


Dreamed a Dream of Users

by CarpoMetaCarpal (VoltageInside)



Category: Tron (1982), Tron (Movies), Tron - All Media Types, Tron: Legacy (2010)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Other, well kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoltageInside/pseuds/CarpoMetaCarpal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tron dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamed a Dream of Users

**Author's Note:**

> {{ tron/alan-1 if you squint really hard - friendship/fluff, for candlehat. }}

Tron entered his personal quarters, feeling a bit heavy after a rather bad fight today. Some programs had gone rogue, causing general chaos on the Grid and attempting to reprogram trademark areas. Being a security program was endless work; it was as if the other programs didn’t realize that yes, they would be caught and yes, they would be stopped. 

Of course, it didn’t stop these younger programs from fighting back. There were a few, so sometimes they got to be a bit much, but he eventually sent them on their way. 

_"Warning: Program update required."_

Tron sighed heavily at the little voice coming from what seemed to be nowhere. It happened sometimes, individually, and sometimes across the Grid, sending all programs into a stasis mode. This latecycle, though, it was just he who had to update. He dredged over to his bed, wiling the torso of his suit away, leaving him bare-chested and comfortable. Updates could go from a quarter-millicycle to a millicycle, depending on its size. He removed his disc, pining for its return, and placed it in the update chamber, an invention of his own design that kept it safe while it renewed its coding. He’d go into statis anyway. He slipped under the blackness just as the disc started glowing faintly with its changes.

_There’s a being. He’s kneeling with his back to Tron, touching something on the Grid. The program eyes him warily, silently removing his disc for battle. Strangers were bizarre on the Grid, though with ISOs, not unlikely._

_Something said this wasn’t an ISO._

_"You there," Tron begins, keeping a safe distance. "State your name."_

_The being stopped what he was doing to the Grid, and turned his head a bit, not yet giving him a full view. He stood up, and Tron noted his height, his build, were all very familiar. He turned around, and looked Tron in the eye. There was a gentle smile, and Tron faltered._

_The man walks closer and claps a hand on his bicep. His other hand guides his forearm back, and Tron clicks his disc back in place, feeling himself abiding to his will._

_And they walk._

_They find themselves following the edge between Grid and Sea of Simulation, and Tron is walking rather close to the man. He feels a connection to him, a desire to know him and be close at all times, so he does._

_They offer no words, no conversation flows between them, hardly even looking at each other, despite his desire to turn the man and memorize him, to learn his speech patterns and movements and quirks._

_And somehow, he already does._

_They come across a tall beam of light, one that stretches up to the sky. They look up in tandem, and then the mysterious man turns to Tron. He, in turn, does the same._

_And he offers one last quirk of his lips and steps into the light, disappearing through it. The light fades with him._

Tron awakes with a start, and finds himself trembling. He stares down at his hands, and for some reason, they won’t stop. 

He leans back against the headboard slowly, the face of a stranger fresh in his mind. Nightcycle images only appeared to programs in Update, and he rarely had them even then. He couldn’t stop thinking about that man.

Because somehow, deep down, he knew that was no program.

"User."

The word on his tongue is different. It is not foreign; for the Grid was alive with hints at a higher power, words like “User” appearing subtly in the backgrounds. But it comes with new meaning. A face.

He ponders this for a long time. He isn’t sure how many millicycles pass, but he can’t stop obsessing.

He wonders if the user is real. If he did, in fact, meet a User, if only in Update stasis. Will he ever visit him? Will a User step onto their Grid, bless the programs with knowledge and justice? Or will he bring chaos, and ravage their home?

And what of this one? He wonders if he is kind, kind like his smile, kind like the way his eyes crinkle at the edges. Tron feels a little quirk play at his mouth at the thought. Maybe he is the epitome of justice. Just like him.

Just like him…Tron stops. He realized now what was so familiar about that face.

It was  _his_ face.

His stomach dropped; maybe he hadn’t seen a User. Maybe he just saw himself, at a later time, for his circuit-markings were different. His heart cracked at the thought, being so hopeful to have seen a user. But…no, how could it be he? This man gave off a totally different aura, an entirely different presence than he. One of subtle power, one of chaos and justice, one of kindness and anger, one of a different life. And he felt his heart lift at the idea. 

He wondered  again if he would be as kind as he seemed. Perhaps he would walk the streets with all kinds of strangers, programs he never met, and chatted them up. Maybe he’d sit on a bench and talk to any who came. Perhaps he would pay the bills of programs when he went out to eat. Perhaps he would sit with the youngest programs on his lap and teach them the ways of his world. Maybe he would, with a look, or a word, or a soft smile, take away all the worries and pain of his life. Just maybe.

Or, instead, would he be reclusive? Would he make a home on the edges of the Grid, a silent protector? Would he spend his days walking the edge of the Sea of Simulation, watching the waves roll across the surface, letting it lap at his feet? Would he sit alone in shops, sipping a drink and gazing out the window? 

Tron would sit with him. He liked to think he would. He’d see the User and step beside him along the beach, would occupy the seat across him in the shops, would live in his home far away. He felt connected to this user, a need to be with him that survived through the dream into his reality. He felt a small bubble of giddiness, the very idea of finally being so close after believing in the Users for so long. Some programs were skeptical, some didn’t care. But he did. He knew the Users were out there, somewhere, and there was one just for him.

Later that day, he followed his steps along the Sea of Simulation, exactly where the User had walked. Miles of Grid, multiple waves splashing over his feet, and multiple anxious glances in search of his User later, he stood in front of a particular landscape. The pillar of light wasn’t there, as he expected, but he still felt a longing pang in his heart. And so Tron sat, for a long time, simply staring up at the sky, where he hoped the light would appear and the User would step out. His User.

And so Tron sat. And Tron waited. 


End file.
